This is my home for the next couple days while Earl and I are attending a family reunion on his side. Doesn’t look like a bad place to be, eh?

It’s called Sea Suites, and it’s one of five floating inns in the United States, according to Coastal Living Magazine. It just happens to be anchored in Saugatuck, about 45 minutes up the road from our home, where the reunion takes place.

We have our own cabin, one of four, and complete run of the boat. There’s a sky deck with a bar and a hot tub. And the rate includes a deluxe continental breakfast with wild berry and cream waffles, the boat’s signature dish.

The floating inn never leaves the dock, but I anticipate falling asleep to the gentle rocking of waves and waking up to the smell of great coffee. Being on the water always makes me hungrier.

There is one thing, however. I’ll be bringing my computer, since the boat has WI-FI, so I’ll probably have to work a little. No matter. Life is good.

Anybody out there like drum corps competition? Heck, I didn’t even know what it was until several years ago. But now Earl and I attend the international championships annually, which is why we spent the weekend in Memorial Stadium in Bloomington, Indiana, with 30,000 other noisy fans.

It was one in the morning when we returned to our hotel from the finals. Twelve elite world class corps competed, and at the end of the night all twelve marched onto the football field to learn their standings in the competition. Three thousand students, none over 21 years of age, filled the field end to end with energy, excitement, and emotion.

The group we were rooting for, The Cavaliers of Rosemont, Illinois, came in third. Personally, I think they were robbed, and I don’t say this because I am biased. Their performance was stellar. As Earl commented, “They left everything they had on the field.” He should know, since he marched with The Cavaliers as a teenager himself.

The Blue Devils came in second, and all the former Cavaliers in the stands rose to their feet because we’d though they come in first and they hadn’t. It was a small victory, but somewhat satisfying to know our nemesis and current champions beat us in the scoring, but somebody else beat them. What’s that old saying about the enemy of my enemy is my friend?

So who was first? Phantom Regiment from Rockford, Illinois, which is just down the road a bit from Rosemont, took home the honors. I don’t know if this was the corps first international championship. I do know that since The Cavaliers and Phantom Regiment belong to the same region, the competition next year will be fierce. Planning for it begins now . . .

In about half an hour, Earl and I head to the finals of Drum Corps International; but while we’re getting ready, I’m surfing the Beijing Olympics. I’m a sucker for Olympic coverage, especially since both of my sons were born just before the summer Olympics of 1968 and 1972, and I spent many nighttime hours feeding them and watching. The latter was particularly memorable because of the assault on and demise of the Jewish team.

In particular, I remember those 2 AM feedings with my younger son, waiting to learn the fate of those Israeli men. In the end, all perished. That same year, the Vietnam War ended and I watched with my newborn son as the man whose MIA bracelet I wore came home. Emotional moments, all.

Now we come to Beijing. It can be a political football or an athlete’s dream, depending on what the media chooses. For myself, I wish the Olympics were as free of political discussion as possible, although I realize that’s a living-in-a-bubble concept. President Bush punctured it; the death of the American earlier today did too.

So far, I’ve watched smatterings of boxing, volleyball, and swimming. I don’t have a handle on who could win, and I certainly don’t have an opinion about the American who was killed earlier today. What I would wish is that the Olympic spirit of sportsmanship will trump the world-weary spirit of politics. In other words, I’m rooting for the athlete’s dream.

Suddenly I’m pulled up short. I’m sitting in a hotel in Bloomington, Indiana, and I realize what’s about to happen. It’s 2008 and my two sons are in striking range of celebrating their birthdays. Keith, the younger, turns thirty-six this month; while Kevin, the older, turns forty on September 11. (Who could have imagined forty years ago the ignominy of that day?)

Where did the time go?

I remember them as infants, as toddlers, preschoolers, students. They were four years apart, so it often felt as if I were raising two only children. Perhaps this was more obvious because they are diametrically opposed in so many ways. One is an academic, the other into pop culture. One is frugal with earth’s blessings; the other is nonchalant. One struggles with money; the other has a successful business.

At the same time, they have things in common. Both are dependable; each calls home regularly. Both have significant others; each works hard to be a worthy mate. Both know his sibling is out there; each will appreciate the other more when they have to choose my nursing home.

I think forty is a milestone, which is why I’m probably more cognizant of their birthdays this year. All I know is that I’ll call on the appropriate day, listen to their hopes and dream, wish them “Happy Birthday” and hang up thinking how lucky I am.